


Maybe in Rome

by ylc



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: (barely there really), Alternate Universe, Fluff, Happy Ending, Light Pining, M/M, a tiny bit of angst, and then they didn't see each other in 10 years, they met in high school
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-15
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-05-23 12:22:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14934203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ylc/pseuds/ylc
Summary: Sometimes, two people might be right for each other but the time might not be right. If they’re meant to be however, they’ll find their way to each other.No matter how long it takes.





	Maybe in Rome

**Author's Note:**

> So… this. This is both the result of my utter lack of self restraint and of me listing way too many times to the same song (although that’s YouTube’s fault, really). This little ficlet is inspired on a song in spanish by the same name: [Tal vez en Roma](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b8I2wEeGfEw). It’s… cute, really. Sweet. I don’t truly believe that type of romances work out in real life, but it’s cute all the same :P  
> Anyway, enjoy?

“What, would you say, is your biggest regret?”

Greg blinks, a little surprised by the sudden turn the conversation has taken. It’s not unusual for his conversations with Molly to take slightly philosophical turns, but they usually catch him by surprise.

“I…” he trails off awkwardly, uncertain of what he can possibly answer. It’s an unexpected question, not the sort he has ever been asked before and to be quite honest, not something he has given much thought.

_ There’s very little use in regret. Why worry about the things that we can not change?  _ Greg’s lips curve upwards, as they usually do when he finds himself thinking of him, but he quickly sobers up.

God. There’s no getting over him, is there?

“I think,” Molly continues, not bothered at all by his silence, maybe even encouraged by it. “I think our biggest regrets say an awful lot about ourselves. About what we fear and what we value. What we would change.”

Greg nods, taking a small sip from his drink. “Makes sense,” he agrees, when Molly just keeps staring at him expectantly.

She huffs, pushing her hair off her face. “Well? What’s yours then?” Greg just stares and she huffs once again. “Alright, I’ll start. When I was fifteen, I was chosen for the school’s volleyball team, but they sucked and I thought it would be a perfect waste of my time, so I never showed up for training and I got kicked out of the team. The school ended up winning the state championship that year though, and all the team members got scholarships for the college they applied to, unlike me.” She pouts a little at this, but it’s all for effect.

Greg smiles, amused. “And what were you doing that you figured was more interesting than training?”

Molly grins, winking. “A lady never kiss and tells, Mr. Lestrade.”

Greg laughs, throwing his head back and she soon joins him. He likes Molly; she has a great sense of humor, even if sometimes it takes a turn into the morbid. Not unexpected coming from a forensic, of course, but still.

“Well, how were you to know they’d win the championship?” he says reasonably. “At the moment, I’m sure it made perfect sense to you.”

“But that’s the point,” Molly argues, smiling too. “When you make a decision, you never know how things will end up. For all I know I could have made the girls lose the final game and so making the whole getting a scholarship more difficult, but  _ I’ll never know for sure.  _ And that’s why I regret not taking the chance.” 

Greg nods thoughtfully, smiling a little at how passionate his companion can get. “So?” she prompts again and when he just stares at her, she rolls her eyes dramatically. “Come on, spill. What’s your biggest regret?”

Greg opens his mouth to say he can’t think of anything in specific, not really, but an image comes unbidden to his mind, making him stop mid motion. He remembers an airport, an stifled goodbye and watching the plane take off, regret tasting bitter in the back of his throat.

He swallows. It tastes just as bitter, even after all these years.

“That bad, huh?” Molly says, startling him a little and he realizes he’s been quiet for a while. He blushes to the root of his hair and avoids her eyes, staring instead at his drink morosely.

“I…” he begins, wondering if he really wants to tell her this. It’s been nearly a decade, but he has never shared that tale of his youth. Not because he’s ashamed of it, of course, but because it always felt too…  _ precious _ to be shared. It was something personal, intimate, just his. Just theirs.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Molly assures him, placing a hand on top of his, eyes soft and full of empathy. She’s really too sweet and he thinks maybe talking about it isn’t such a terrible idea after all.

“There was a boy at my high school,” he says finally, although he still feels unsure. “He… he was… I… I…” he closes his eyes, the pain feeling just as raw as it did all those years ago. “He left for college. I never saw him again.”

“I am sorry,” Molly murmurs, pating his hand awkwardly and Greg nods in acknowledgement.

So is he.

* * *

 

Describing his relationship with Mycroft Holmes is… difficult, to say at least.

He remembers the first time he saw the other boy: sitting at the school yard by his own, nose in a book and lunch half forgotten. He remembers how the light caught in his ginger hair and the freckled nose that was scrunched in displeasure at whatever he was reading. He remembers the way his breath got caught in his throat and his sudden understanding of the phrase  _ stomach butterflies. _

And then Mycroft had looked up, his eyes landing on Greg right away and he had thought his heart would give up right then are there. Those eyes… he clearly remembers thinking that if eyes are the windows of the soul, then the other boy must have had the most beautiful soul in the history of humankind.

Mycroft had frowned, wary of Greg’s fixed stare. His mom had always taught him that staring was impolite, but he just couldn’t help himself. He knew, rationally, that he needed to look away, but he just  _ couldn’t.  _ He also knew that if he wasn’t going to stop staring, the polite thing to do would be to go ahead and introduce himself.

He did just that.

Mycroft wasn’t the sort of boy who made friends easily, Greg quickly learned and he didn’t trust people’s intentions. He felt sad after learning that, but he determined he’d prove to the other boy that he could trust him, no matter how long it took.

Greg isn’t sure if he would have called him his friend. He was, in a way, but the word felt inaccurate. It couldn’t possibly hope to explain the intricacies of their relationship, nor accurately describe  _ all _ they were. If there’s a word to define what Mycroft Holmes was to him, Greg does not know it.

And even after all these years, he does not know what the other man was to him.

_ Everything  _ just feels too heavy.

But it’s probably the one closest to the truth.

* * *

 

“I’m glad you could come with me,” Molly says cheerfully as they make their way through the busy street. “I know it was a little short notice, but I really thought it’d be a shame for Carol’s ticket to go to waste.”

Carol works in forensics too, so she was a much more obvious choice to attend this conference, but after she got a nasty case of flu, the Superintendent had suggested Greg took her place. He had argued the young Sergeant has a bright future ahead of him and he’d benefit from learning about how to properly handle crime scenes so to preserve as much as evidence as possible.

Greg isn’t quite sure why the Superintendent seems to like him so much, but he’s thankful all the same.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Molly continues, undeterred by Greg’s silence. She’s a vivacious girl and it’s not unusual for her to carry whole conversations on her own. She has a nice voice and she’s quite funny and good natured too, so most people don’t mind how talkative she can be.

He looks at her from the corner of his eye, thinking he does like her a great deal. And she’d be a good match for him, he thinks. She understands the difficulties of the job too and since Greg’s last  _ messy  _ relationship, he figures that’s a plus. But it’s a useless thought, of course-- Greg’s last relationship didn’t fall apart because of his difficult schedule, but because he’s still too hung up on a certain someone.

A whole decade and he can’t forget the man who was never his to begin with.

“Have you ever been to Rome before?” she asks, as they get into the cab that will take them to their hotel. 

“I’ve never been out of London,” Greg confesses, staring outside the window curiously. 

“Oh, then we must take a city tour,” she says, pulling out her phone, no doubt searching for tours. “A pity we have so little time, really.”

Greg nods absentmindedly, leaning back on his seat, watching Molly from the corner of his eye.

He has a gut feeling this trip is going to be life changing.

He just can’t pinpoint why.

* * *

 

“So, tell me about this boy of yours,” Molly prompts during dinner, taking Greg by surprise.

He sputters and she smiles, shaking her head fondly.

“There’s no much to tell, really,” Greg deflects, food tasting like ash in his mouth now. He should have never told her about Mycroft: despite all his fond memories of their time together, it’s not a subject he likes to think about.

“Greg,” Molly says, placing a hand on his. “I just… I want to understand, you know? But if it’s asking too much…”

He sighs, leaning back on his seat as he contemplates his options. “We were… friends, I suppose. I knew I liked him from the moment I saw him but I… he… he wasn’t really the approachable type.” He smiles at the thought, his heart aching a little at the memory. “And I thought… I thought I could settle for being his friend. He was…  _ amazing  _ really, too great for words.” He closes his eyes, trying to ease the pain. It’s been so long…

“What happened?” Molly asks, after a too lengthy pause and Greg takes a long sip of his drink, glaring sourly at nothing in particular.

“He left for college. France, I think? I don’t… I couldn’t… I didn’t really pay attention. When he told me he was leaving I was too busy trying to keep myself together so I didn’t really listen.”

“Why didn’t you keep in touch?”

That’s complicated, isn’t it? “I made a half hearted attempt of suggesting it.” He shrugs non committedly. “He said it might not be wise.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, thinking, just as all those years ago, that he should have tried harder. “I saw him off to the airport. There was a moment right before he went through security that I… I thought maybe… but then he turned around and left without looking back.” He takes another sip of his drink and realizes it’s empty. “You asked me what my biggest regret was. It’s not having fought harder for what we had.”

There’s a painful silence and then Molly squeezes his hand once. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, sounding honest.

There’s little point in regretting what we can’t change.

And yet--

* * *

 

The conference was… interesting. It got a little gory at points, but nothing Greg hasn’t seen before. Now he and Molly sit at a small café near the conference center, both still mulling over the conference’s more important bits and so not talking among themselves. By sheer luck, Greg happens to look up from his food, a question already on his lips and then he stops, his brain completely blanking out.

It can not be.

“Greg?” Molly prompts, no doubt worried by the look on his face, but he barely listens, His whole focus is on the man he can see crossing down the street, walking in the general direction of the café.

“Greg?” Molly tries again, with as little success as the time before and her eyes follow Greg’s gaze, landing on the man her companion is watching with open fascination. “Is that him?” she asks, a tad breathlessly, excitement evident in her tone.

Greg doesn’t answer, instead bolting out of his seat and that’s probably answer enough. He hurries out of the café and onto the street, just in time to intercept Mycroft Holmes as he crosses the street.

“Mycroft?” he asks, barely conscious of doing so, just too overwhelmed to properly function.

Mycroft’s focus is on something on his phone, but he stops at the sound of his name and looks up, a mildly annoyed expression on his face. Greg’s heart stops as he takes in the changes age has brought upon his… friend. He has gotten taller somehow and leaner; there’s no trace of that little extra weight he carried in his youth (which, personally, Greg thinks it’s a pity). His hair has gotten darker (or maybe he dyes it?) and there are even more freckles sprinkled across his nose and cheeks. There are fine lines on his forehead (Greg always said he frowned way too much) and dark circles under his eyes (he always had trouble sleeping). Still, despite all the changes (or maybe because of all of them), Greg still thinks he’s the most handsome man he has ever seen.

Mycroft’s frown smooths down as his jaw drops. Greg smiles, bright as the sun and the other man approaches, phone still in hand but long forgotten. “Gregory?” he asks, just as breathlessly and Greg can’t help the little halfway hysterical giggle that escapes him.

“I told you, it’s Greg,” he corrects goodnaturedly, pulling the taller man into a hug that Mycroft practically melts into. For a couple of seconds, it’s like time hasn’t passed at all.

But then someone clears their throat behind them and Mycroft sprints away so quickly it’d be funny if Greg’s heart wasn’t breaking. He turns to face whoever interrupted and comes face to face with a young woman who is observing them with a raised eyebrow.

Greg stares at her, a little confused, but she ignores him completely, eyes fixed on Mycroft. They seem to be having a whole silent conversation and Greg’s heart breaks a little more.

Oh. He probably should have known.

“I… It’s good to see you,” he says finally, a little lamely, not quite meeting Mycroft’s eyes. “I didn’t… It’s been too long.”

Mycroft nods, perhaps a tad too stiffly. “Yes, I…” he lets out a nervous laugh, which is completely out of character of him. “It’s been too long indeed.”

“How--?”

“Sorry to interrupt,” the woman says, stepping forward. “But we’re going to be late for the meeting.”

Mycroft makes a face, but nods in acknowledgment before turning to Greg once more. “I’m sorry, I…”

“It’s fine,” Greg replies, shrugging. “I understand. It was good to see you, though.”

“Yeah. You too.” Mycroft looks around, seemingly searching for something, but then he just shakes his head sadly. “Goodbye, Gregory.”

“Goodbye,” he replies, but his companion has already turned around and is now disappearing amidst a bunch of passersby. Greg sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose in frustration.

Well, that was anticlimactic.

“Grand Hotel Ritz. Ask for Mr. Holmes at the reception. 8 o’clock, don’t be late,” the woman tells him, pushing past Greg, tapping something on her phone. “I’ve cleared Mr. Holmes schedule for the night and he’s a terribly busy man so… Don’t make him wait,” she instructs, not even sparing a look in his direction.

“What?!” Greg exclaims, not sure what’s happening.

The woman turns to him briefly, so he can see her dramatic eye roll. “8 o’clock,” she repeats, as if she’s talking to a particularly slow child. “Don’t be late.” And with that she disappears down the street, gaze fixed on her phone and yet somehow avoiding to run into anything or anyone.

Greg stares after her, feeling mighty confused.

What the hell has just happened?

* * *

 

“What are you doing?” Molly demands to know after Greg lets her in, after she nearly threw down his door. “Why are you still here?!” She looks at him and makes a face. “And what the hell are you wearing?”

“My pijamas?” he offers, tone slightly wary at the woman’s very evident anger. What’s her problem?

“Oh, dear god,” she says, rather dramatically, taking him by the arm and guiding him in the general direction of the bathroom. “Here’s what’s going to happen now- You’re going to take the quickest shower of your life, I’m going to get your clothes ready and we’re heading for the Ritz asap.”

Ah. So that’s what this is about. “Molly--”

“Nop,” she interrupts sharply, popping the  _ p _ rather loudly. “Here’s the thing about second chances, Greg: you rarely ever get them.” She pushes him into the bathroom, closing the door after him. “Now, shower, quick!”

Greg stares at the closed door for a beat, wondering what he should do. Finally, with a sigh, he starts to undress.

Molly is right; one rarely gets second chances and he’d be a fool to let this one pass.

* * *

 

The hotel is fancier than Greg imagined, although he should have expected so. Mycroft was always a little too posh, although he made an effort not to make Greg feel self conscious. However, as he makes his way to the top floor, as the receptionist indicated, he can’t help asking himself just what the hell is he doing here.

No matter what he might have wanted, he and Mycroft never belonged together. Time has done nothing but make the differences between them more pronounced.

But soon enough he’s standing outside Mycroft’s suite and he figures that since he’s here already, he might as well see where this path leads.

Before he can even knock, the door is thrown open and he comes face to face with the young woman from earlier. She smiles pleasantly at him, although her eyes are still glued to her phone. “Your 8 o’clock appointment is here, Mr. Holmes,” she announces loudly. “Late,” she adds, tone lower, finally turning her attention to Greg and glaring.

“Yes, I… sorry about that?”

She narrows her eyes at him and Greg gulps nervously, but before either can say anything more, Mycroft appears at the threshold. “I thought you said you had cancelled… Gregory?”

“Hey,” he greets, forgetting all about the scary assistant, eyes fixed on Mycroft, sappy smile on his lips. God, he’s pathetic, isn’t he?

“Hello,” Mycroft replies, eyes on Greg, a light blush covering his cheeks now.

“Have a pleasant evening, gentlemen,” the assistant says, smiling pleasantly and slipping past Greg, eyes fixed on her phone once more. Greg stares after her for a beat before quickly turning his attention back to Mycroft.

“Umm… may I come in?” he asks hesitantly, since his companion is still watching him in surprise.

“Oh, sure,” Mycroft agrees, moving away to let him pass. “I just… I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting company.” He’s blushing a bit more now and Greg finally notices his companion is wearing his pajamas. They’re very fancy pajamas, of course, but Greg is wearing a suit (per Molly’s suggestion) and so either Mycroft is underdressed or he’s overdressed. “Huh,” Mycroft murmurs, as they make their way to the small table in the dinning area of the suite. “I guess that explains the amount of food”.

Greg smiles, taking a seat gingerly. He’s nervous, there’s no denying that, but hopeful. “Your assistant basically ordered me to come. I’d have thought she told you about it.”

Mycroft huffs. “No, not really. Anthea… she’s good, very good but she tends to… she’s a bit of a wild card.” Greg arches an eyebrow and Mycroft shrugs casually. “She’s… protective, I think? She says I work entirely too much.”

“Well, you did that even at high school, so…”

Mycroft’s lips curve upwards very briefly. “Yes, I suppose so. But I… I’m a very busy man, nowadays.”

“So your assistant said,” Greg acknowledges. “And yet she cleared your schedule for this.”

Mycroft pouts a tiny bit and Greg is hard pressed not to do something foolish. “Indeed. Well, I suppose.... shall we?” he asks, gesturing a bit helplessly at the array of food and Greg smiles, nodding once.

He wasn’t sure what to expect of tonight, but he’s glad he came all the same.

* * *

 

At first, conversation is a bit stifled, but they both relax eventually so they can actually start talking and soon enough it’s like no time has passed. Greg always found it easy to talk to Mycroft and despite how generally distrustful the other man was, Greg always felt the sentiment run both ways, so he’s not entirely surprised by how open his companion is being.

He wishes--

“You know, I…” Greg starts after they’ve finished dinner and they’re both smiling, satisfied. “After you left, I kept thinking… I shouldn’t have let you go like that.”

Mycroft observes him in silence for a beat, licking his lips in a nervous gesture. “It was for the best,” he murmurs, not looking directly at Greg anymore, but rather staring at the floor. 

“Do you really think so?” Greg asks, sounding far too eager even to his own ears, but he doesn’t mind, not now. If this is his second chance, he’s going to make it count. “Even after all these years, do you believe so?”

Mycroft looks at him once more, chewing on his lip in a most distracting manner. “I thought you were going to kiss me. When you… when we were saying goodbye…”

“I thought about it,” Greg confesses, feeling his cheeks heat. “I just… I was scared. And I’ve regretted it ever since.”

Again, they fall into silence, both thinking about the other’s words. “So have I,” Mycroft says finally, eyes fixed on Greg’s once more. “But Gregory I… I’m still a hard man to tolerate, let alone anything else.”

Greg smiles fondly, shaking his head. “I’ve never found you hard to  _ tolerate.  _ In fact, I seem to remember you were the one enduring my presence.”

“You were never a nuisance, no matter what I used to say,” Mycroft tells him very seriously. “I just… You were distracting. And you made me… I never thought… I never wanted… but you made me feel  _ so damn much _ .” He leans back on his seat, staring at Greg intently. “You still do, I suppose.”

Greg’s smile is bright as the sun as he stands up, coming to stand right in front of his companion. “Well then. Since we’re evidently on the same page… what are we waiting for?”

Mycroft huffs, but his smile is fond. He stands up, taking Greg’s offered hand and he laces their fingers together. Greg’s heart is beating entirely too loud and while there’s a part of him that’s telling him things are moving way too fast, there’s another part of him that tells him that’s not the case at all.

After all, whatever happens this night has a decade in the making.

Surely that counts for something?

* * *

 

The first kiss is tentative, gentle. Greg had thought that, considering all the time it has been coming, it’d be passionate if clumsy, both too eager to put any finesse into it. But Mycroft kisses as he does everything else: with great care and absolute self restraint.

Besides, Greg thinks he might be holding back a little. Understandable, really: he himself can barely believe this is really happening, half worried is just another dream that will leave him aching for what can not be. The thought makes his stomach twist with worry and he clings onto his partner, to reassure them both this is real.

They pull away for air and their eyes lock. No words are exchanged, but they’re not needed: they both understand. This is real, this is happening and neither is going anywhere.

And right now, that’s more than enough.

The second kiss is much more passionate, full of pent up desire. Greg’s no blushing virgin and he somehow doubts his partner is either, but this is their first time together and as much as he wants it to be perfect, he can barely think through the haze of lust that’s threatening to overwhelm all his senses. So many years apart, so much time wasted--

“Don’t think of it as wasted,” Mycroft says, seemingly reading his mind as he always did. “It just wasn’t the right moment.”

“And it is now?” Greg asks, voice low, slightly fearful despite himself.

“Yes,” Mycroft assures him, pressing his lips to his once again. 

It seems so simple.

But then, he supposes that’s what happens when things are meant to be.

* * *

 

The bedroom is separated from the rest of the room by a tick door, so when Greg ventures outside the bedroom in search of something to drink (he’s rather thirsty and he thinks Mycroft will appreciate some water when he wakes up) he doesn’t immediately notice that they’re not alone in the room.

“Am I to assume you’ll be a permanent fixture in Mr. Holmes’ life now, Mr. Lestrade?” Anthea asks, making Greg jump and reach for something to cover himself with. The woman simply arches an eyebrow, amused, but offers him a nightgown she seems to have pulled out of thin air.

“I think so,” he answers, once he has gotten over his embarrassment and covered himself. “Or at least I hope so.”

Anthea nods once, satisfied. “Good.” She smiles, all teeth and Greg gulps nervously. “He mentioned you a lot, you know? Mr. Holmes isn’t a terribly sentimental man, but when he talked about you… I hope you understand how special that makes you.”

Greg nods. “And I’m honored for it. Mycroft is… he’s always been…” he trails off, uncertain how can he possibly put into words all the admiration and affection he feels for the other man without sounding terribly sappy.

“It’s said that  _ almost  _ is the most difficult type of relationship to move on from,” Anthea says, smile a little wistful. “How can you get over something that never even properly began?” 

“Yes, I… Finding him again has been incredibly lucky.”

Anthea hums in acknowledgment, smile still sharp as a knife and Greg’s been threatened enough in the job to know what’s coming, but somehow he thinks this petite woman is far more dangerous than any other criminal he has dealt with.

“Mr. Holmes is a good man and a great boss, so I would hate to see him upset,” she starts, expression pleasant but there’s an edge in her tone.

“I wouldn’t--”

“Just know that if you break his heart, I’ll break your legs,” Anthea says placidly, already standing up and heading for the door. “I’ve cleared Mr. Holmes’ schedule for the day once more and changed your plane ticket for tomorrow. Your co-worker said, and I quote,  _ told ya.  _ Also, she expects you to tell her everything. No details to be omitted. _ ”  _

Greg blushes furiously. “Thank you.”

The assistant nods, opening the door. “I wish you a pleasant day.” And with that she disappears, leaving Greg alone once more.

Well, that was… enlightening, to say at least.

“I told you she was protective,” a voice says behind him just as a pair of arms wrap themselves around his middle, Mycroft’s chin resting on his shoulder blade. “Rest assured, I wouldn’t let any harm come upon you even if you decided you didn’t want to be with me anymore, heartbroken as I might be.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Greg says, turning around so he’s facing his partner, smiling widely. “It took me ten years to finally get you, I’m sorry but you’re just not getting rid of me anytime soon.” He stands on his tiptoes to press a kiss to Mycroft’s lips, grinning all the while.

“I think I can endure,” Mycroft whispers, kissing him back, smiling into the kiss too.

Sometimes, two people might be right for each other but the time might not be right. If they’re meant to be however, they’ll find their way to each other.

No matter how long it takes.

**Author's Note:**

> So, thoughts anyone?  
> I considered several times during this week to cut this into two (or maybe three) chapters and add a little more of drama, but I thought it worked better like this. It’s short and sweet and perhaps a little simple, but I liked it :P  
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought?  
> English is not my native language, so any mistakes you find, please point them out!  
> You can also find me in [tumblr](http://ylc1.tumblr.com/)


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